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Is this the cross I am to bear? Having one who loves me deeply, and loving one who I cut loose. One is kind and sweet in the way I do not deserve, one's wild and brave like I've never seen. He holds my hand and sleeps next to me in a certain that I'm fully trully deeplly his, but in my mind the flashes from the touch I've never felt it makes me see anothert man's arms.
The other had his chance and I had mine with him, but I was despered to feel something that I could not see the love he was giving me like he never gave anyone before. Then I said my goodbyes and I broke him into parts. That haunts me every single night I spend dreaming of the alternative life that never got lived.
Now I try everyday to make a living out of this love I've choosed, having the other in my life as well, only now only as a passenger friend that very well may leave me at any secound. I see him everyday, we talk and laugh as we get through our day, yet when is time to say goodbye he stays a little longer by me, even if sometimes we don’t have anything to say. I know he still feels it just as I do, because (even though it may sound presumptuous) I see the way he looks at me, the way he gets into trouble just to help me with things that, sometimes, I know how to do but alow him to help me just so I get more time with those eyes.
And oh, those eyes! They are like walking into a field in sunset, where the grass is a greenish kind of brown, with that light shinning from the reflection of a far away river running free. He even smells like a nice warm breeze reminding you that the cold days are comming. And they are comming. Because when is time and he goes riding to his messed up lonly world, the freezing air pops into my lungs like a sword cutting me into two pieces and I came back to the reality where he’s not mine and there’s another one waiting for me.
That is when I come to my racional senses and I find myself feeling shame for those hours of daydreaming. The one has been there all this time with only me in his mind and, even knowing that I did not do anything, the smell of those dirty dreams of leaving him for the other seems like a murder of his love. Such a pure and true love that he feels, I see that. He touches me and kisses me like I’m an angel made from gold sculpid by god himself, while I love him because I think that’s the most loved I’ll ever feel. Is that selfish? Is that as wrong as I think it is? Loving him because of his love?
Don’t take me as a total disturbed heartless person, I see good in him. I see things that I like and admire. But I’m not sure if it is the regret of a love that could have been but never got lived, or if is just me trying to make a caos out of something that should be simple and satisfying. But I can’t help myself, every secound of everyday I dream of a man I cannot have and at the same time I feel ashamed by the love I might be waisting and destroying.
How to live when you’re never satisfied? How to get away from shame when the two men in your life keep making you go mad?
So I find my answer now, at the end of another sad story:
This is the cross I will have to bear forevermore.
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day one
I’ve been thinking about how to deal with everything that’s been happening to me through a very confusing year, and I decided to write it down so I could have a different perspective from it all putting it down in words.
This is not the first time I’ve tried to do this, the first idea was a journal, I even bought one instead of using the old ones I had; but it didn’t worked out, I thought that someone could read it, well, he could.Then I’ve moved on to the notes on my phone, but then I got tired of typing and simply forgot about it. So as the third time I’m beguining this “thing”, I’m hoping it will actually work and help me get a better notion of what is really going on with me. Help me make some decicions that will in fact make me happy at the end, instead of more confused.
In the hope that it will all work out and I’ll finally come to peace with my disturbingly messed up mind, the next post will be the first page of this story.
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